


my black eye casts no shadow/ your red eye sees no blame

by asimaiyat



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Mentions, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Past Underage, M/M, Rough Sex, but man was he bad at math, could be read as dubcon, episode: 1:10 "Progeny", nonlinear storytelling, smoking mentions, the risk he took was calculated, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6559645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asimaiyat/pseuds/asimaiyat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode tag for 1:10 "Progeny." Mick and Len have never had the healthiest ways of resolving their differences, but they always end up back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my black eye casts no shadow/ your red eye sees no blame

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful punk-rock-yuppie posted on tumblr that someone needed to write a fic about "hatesex in the s h a m e c u b e" (I think the s h a m e c u b e was coined by tumblr user killerfrostbite, meaning the holding cell on the waverider), I suggested something to the tune of "Kiss With A Fist" by Florence + The Machine, and then I got a little bit carried away. This is pure idfic tbh. Cry about time-traveling assholes with me at reversetrash.tumblr.com.

Sweat drips down the back of Len’s neck as he regains his footing, not giving Mick the satisfaction of seeing him rub at his aching jaw. It was a solid hit, but the fight isn’t over. There’s still too much left to say, anger and need pounding in his head harder than Mick’s big hands can hit him. He steps in closer and their eyes lock, and he sees that wild spark in Mick’s eyes that never means anything good

_they agreed to meet behind the Keystone Smoke Shop when they both got out of lockup and he didn’t think the older boy would be there, but he was, smoking a goddamn ridiculous cigar, face breaking out in that scary grin when he saw Len, the earthy taste of tobacco in his mouth when he yanked him in for a rough kiss_

Len is smaller, weaker, his only chance is to fight dirty, but he’s always been good at that. He feints to the right and slams a fist into Mick’s left kidney, wincing at the howl of rage that rewards him. But he can’t get back fast enough, not with his head swimming like it is, and Mick’s more or less on top of him and bringing him down before his mind even catches up, the metal floor rushing up to meet his back

_Mick drove him into the wall, growling in his ear that he deserved more than just an apology. It had been a year since the last time, since a dumb liquor-store job had drawn heat and Mick had responded with a fucking Molotov cocktail at a cop car, and Len had told him he couldn’t do this anymore, as if he knew anything else he could do. A year since he’d been touched like that, held fast in those hands and pushed down into the riptide of Mick’s passions. His clothes didn’t make it, jeans ripped off as he hurried to get his legs around Mick’s waist and cling to him with all he had_

Mick is on top of him and pulling back, hesitating before he delivers a blow that Len knows he isn’t going to walk away from, and Len makes one last grasp, aching core muscles hoisting him off the floor to grab both of Mick’s shoulders and _pull_ , dragging him down until they’re face-to-face and Len can kiss him like it’s another means of fighting, teeth sinking in, tongues shoving at each other. A low sound comes from the depths of Mick’s chest as he gets his hands on Len’s shoulders and pushes them hard against the floor, wordlessly ordering him to _stay down_ as he rears back, stripping off Len’s pants and underwear, leaving them bunched at his ankles, pinning him. “Still can’t stay away?” Mick taunts, and Len meets the mad glow in his eyes head-on with his own

_after he gave Mick the heat gun, he knew he’d have to try it out. He should have known it would be right then and there. The threadbare squat he’d found him in was already burning down, flames licking from the curtains and eating away the cheap art on the walls, as Len climbed on and rode Mick’s cock, barely prepared, grunting at the burn in each stroke but never letting his eyes flutter closed or leave Mick’s even for a second_

Luckily they’re both soaked in sweat, because that’s all they’ve got as Mick covers Len with his body and Len takes his sensitive new right hand and wraps it around both of their cocks, sparing a thought for how very fucked-up it is that they’re both as hard right now as they’ve ever been. He thrusts his hips up against Mick’s, the short nails of his left hand digging into Mick’s back as the bigger man holds him down with a forearm across his collarbone, their faces so close that nothing is in focus, or maybe that’s the head trauma. Mick doesn’t smell like tobacco and gasoline anymore, it’s just metal and sweaty skin, and it’s wrong and sad but he’s pressing his face against his neck anyway as his grip tightens on both of their shafts, finding a vicious rhythm that isn’t going to last for long

_“To our next big adventure,” Mick mused, sardonically hoisting his mostly-empty Yuengling in Len’s direction. Len didn’t miss the sarcasm, knew he was taking a risk by ignoring it, but it was a calculated one. He needed this new start, this mission, and he needed Mick, and he was too damn selfish to pick one or the other. So instead of saying anything he just slid across the couch, up against his partner, and kissed the bitter taste from his mouth as he climbed into his lap, smirking against Mick’s mouth as they fell together as they always had, Mick’s hands firm on his ass, the overstuffed leatherette couch giving easily beneath them as they both refused to acknowledge their last night here_


End file.
